


(Fair Game Weekend) - The Scars You Leave Will Forever Be Carved Into Me

by Dreamy_Darling



Category: RWBY
Genre: Aftercare, Bite Kink, Biting, Descriptions of lovebites, Emotional, Emotional Fluff, Fair Game Weekend (RWBY), Fluff, Kink, Like very minor, Love Bites, M/M, Qrow Branwen Needs a Hug, Qrow centric, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Reflection, Vague Sex, minor bdsm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamy_Darling/pseuds/Dreamy_Darling
Summary: Fair Game Weekend - Day 2: ScarsQrow had a thing for being bitten, but past lovers were quite reluctant to put their teeth to good use on him. Luckily, Clover Ebi liked to bite.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 74





	(Fair Game Weekend) - The Scars You Leave Will Forever Be Carved Into Me

**Author's Note:**

> Happy reading~!

Qrow didn’t often look at himself naked.

Despite his age, his experiences, despite everything, he found it embarrassing. He didn’t know where it came from, and he knew it was silly – it was his body, the one he’d always had, so what was the problem? Was it the paleness? The stubble constantly left unchecked? Legs so long they bordered on gangly? Clover always littered him with compliments, but they felt... ingenuine. That wasn’t Clover’s fault; the problem was that, for whatever reason, Qrow simply felt undeserving of such sweetness. Unsure that his image truly matched however he looked in the mind’s eye of the Captain. More often than not, he didn’t _feel_ beautiful. He didn’t _feel_ handsome. Perhaps his vision was augmented more by what he knew of the world, memories of what he’d had to do to survive until now. Thoughts of what he felt deep down reflected in the unyielding truth in the mirror, amid the surface of himself.

Qrow shook himself. Tonight wasn’t the night to philosophize. He had better things to do.

He should be more embarrassed by the mere idea of being so bashful. Qrow Branwen? Best Huntsman in the world? _With self-esteem issues?_ Anyone would laugh at the idea; he almost laughed at himself, and he was the bastard stuck with the insecurities. But it didn’t matter what logic he applied to the situation, the flourish of pink would rise to his cheeks each time he saw himself stripped totally bare before the looking glass.

Not too long ago, it made him shudder seeing himself. Seeing the long jagged scars that cut their way across the expanse of creamy white skin... it only served as a haunting reminder of things he’d had to endure, deaths he’d had to live through to save the people he loved and the world he couldn’t really care for anymore (until recently, though that was a thought for another day).

These days, though, Qrow was finding it harder and harder to even see those old battle scars due to the new layer of damage upon his form. But this was damage he’d happily wear time and time again.

Qrow had a _thing_ for being bitten, but past lovers were quite reluctant to put their teeth to good use on him. Luckily, Clover Ebi liked to bite.

Bitemarks trailed over his chest, his biceps, stained his wrists and marked his thighs, ankles. Muscular back and neck, hips, abs. Everywhere within and out of reason. Lovely little teeth indents remained along his body, deeper marks framed by an irritated bloom of red. Some bites had faded, but they transformed into the most beautiful shades of purple and green and brown formed from how hard Clover trapped his lover in his jaws. Qrow had to nibble his bottom lip to deal with the thrill of running his fingertips over the dips Clover’s teeth had left in his body, a tapestry of affection, proof that the tightly-strung Captain could indeed become unwound. But better yet, it was proof that _Qrow_ was the one who could make him that carnal.

Part of Qrow had expected there to be at least a sliver of possessiveness in a man like Clover. He was militant, he was strong, he was independent. He was arrogant. It was a flaw, but Qrow found that when it came to Clover, he liked being possessed. He liked being branded, labelled as taken, as finally belonging somewhere in a world that up until that point didn’t seem to have room for him. He found a place alongside Clover, a place where he was not merely tolerated or accepted, but welcomed enthusiastically. He was _wanted_ , and these bitemarks proved that; that Clover went out of the way to pin him down, mark him over and over, showed that for once there was someone who desired him so much they needed to show the whole of Remnant. They marked Qrow as Clover’s territory, and to his own surprise, Qrow loved that feeling.

He was indeed the only one who could get Clover wild, but Clover was the only one who could get _him_ to be tame. All because they both shared a somewhat specific kink.

Nonetheless, Qrow never wanted these marks to fade.

If he could, Qrow would fight his Aura, try to stop it from healing the marks that would vanish all too quickly. But these bites were special. Clover had taken great care to make sure they’d last.

It was only last night that he’d stripped Qrow bare, that he’d held him down so expertly, so eagerly. It was only last night that his teeth were on Qrow’s skin, grazing and pinching and nipping and bruising until Qrow was just keening and begging to be fucked. And Clover had been more than happy to answer those pleas... eventually.

The very thought sent a shiver of heat through Qrow, the memory warm under his skin, more than an afterimage behind his eyes, more than a lingering taste on his tongue. He wanted Clover to finish up whatever meeting he was being held up in, for Qrow had long since grown bored of waiting for his Captain.

With a sighing breath and tender touches, Qrow slipped off his jewellery, placing them piece by piece on the sink by the bathroom mirror. First his rings, tarnished silver long overdue a clean, then his bracelet. He wore the damn thing so often the skin beneath was far paler than the rest of his fair form. If the rest of him was the colour of cream, the skin beneath the bracelet was the colour of milk. But he didn’t care. He only hesitated when he slid his fingers to the back of his neck, toying with the leather rope from which his crooked cross dangled from. It was his warning sign, he’d not removed it for however long... but he wanted to be bare. Clover no longer had a need for admonition; what Qrow was had already been laid out plainly for him. And still he stayed.

And Qrow loved him for it.

So the cross was placed down, and as the silver clinked quietly against the marble sink, the little alert sounded at the front door of the flat. And Qrow smiled, because Clover was home. It never mattered where they were; “home” was always when they were together.

There was no time for pleasantries, no time for idle chatter. Qrow stepped out into the hallway when he heard the front door shut behind Clover, the fluorescent bathroom light serving as a backdrop for his form, a halo of artificial light. Clover almost went to speak before his eyes caught up with himself, but when he properly saw Qrow his words were stolen away, and he gave himself the chance to take in the sight of his beloved. Qrow smirked, closing the space between them and brushing his fingers along the trim of his Captain’s collar.

A single kiss, a gentle brushing of lips and a hint of a warm tongue, and _teeth_ , was all it took to convince Clover to make a beeline for their room. He loved Clover, loved his roaming hands and tender words and charming kisses. Loved the warmth of his lap, the softness of his hair, the steady beat of his heart.

He loved when they were finally bare together, when Clover was squeezing Qrow’s hips and pressing him into the bed. And when Clover’s teeth was upon his skin again, Qrow let out a breath he felt he’d been holding in since the moment his Captain had left that morning. But now he was home, and the night was theirs, and Clover was his and he was Clover’s.

Clover’s tongue rolled over old teeth indents, left Qrow’s vanilla skin wet and trembling, while his teeth left him bruised and stinging with new nibbles. But each time he was nipped, he moaned, for the wounds left behind sparked the loveliest pleasure that rippled through him, settling deep and building up and up as he was marked. Each love bite layered atop old scars, and when Qrow was with Clover, he could forget his past. Old aches and sorrows were replaced with a pain he was addicted to, a heat he would happily beg for.

And Clover always made him beg.

And Clover was between Qrow’s long legs, pumping into him until Qrow couldn’t breathe, until his skin burned with bruises and bitemarks. He was so _wet_ now, dripping with saliva and lubricant and arousal. And Qrow was overwhelmed.

And his Captain’s name was the only thing he could utter when the euphoria broke through him. The heat ignited to pure fire, burning through Qrow and trapping him in the line where pain met pleasure until Clover reached his own crescendo. It was too much. It was always too much. But it was perfect.

Clover was so good at leaving him shaken to his very core, as though it were an art he’d practiced and honed over the years. If Qrow had enough brain power left to think at all, he might have asked himself if that made him the muse, or the canvas.

He supposed it didn’t matter too much which one he was, because Clover still speckled him with the most delicate kisses after; those lips that would snarl and growl and moan turned so sweet so quickly, landing little apologetic smooches over each bitemark (though he had nothing to apologise for, in Qrow’s opinion). That was how Qrow knew he was loved – well, Clover showed his affection in countless ways all throughout the day. Brushing salt and pepper locks out of Qrow’s face just to see his eyes, playing along with his jokes and quips. But in these tender early-morning moments, this was how he said _‘I love you’_.

Clover asked him sometimes if he was too rough, if he took things too far. When he sat in the bath with his beloved and ran his thumb over the meadow of bruises down Qrow’s back (the red always looked worse against such pale skin, Qrow decided). But Qrow would tell him time and time again that he loved it, that he loved his Captain.

Once the sun came up, Qrow was stood before the mirror once again, staring at the bitemarks, counting the indents left from Clover’s teeth. So much new damage took over his form he could no longer see the old scars.

Perhaps Qrow made a mistake earlier. He did feel beautiful sometimes.

Clover made him feel beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and tell me what you think!  
> Happy reading~!


End file.
